Suddenly Mr. B’s fingers went to the mask on his face. Evidently he feared it had slipped and revealed his identity. Tom could not help smiling as he said: “Oh, I don’t know who you are personally, and I don’t know that I care. It may make no difference. But I can discover your identities if I choose. That is neither here nor there. The point is I refuse your offer and I’m going back to my laboratory and perfect my machine. Inside of a month it will be on the market!” “Oh! oh!” wailed Mr. B. Some of the others showed evidence of perturbation, but Mr. X remained calm. “Sit down again, Mr. Swift,” he said, and his tone was not as smooth as before. “Is that a command or an invitation?” asked Tom sharply. “You may regard it either way you like,” was the reply. And Tom did not need to be told that the playing was over—stern reality was now to the fore. The men still had masks on their faces, but they no longer masked their intentions. “Just a minute,” said Tom, still standing by the chair. “You said, at the beginning that I was here of my own free will—that I could walk out of here any time I wished.” “That was true at the time it was stated,” said Mr. X. “I may withdraw my offer any time.” “Have you withdrawn it?” There was a moment’s pause and then came the low reply: “I have. Yes.” “Then I am not free to go?” “Not until you listen further to me,” said Mr. X. “I think you are very unwise, Tom Swift. We have made you a liberal offer. It is much more than you can make for a long time if you market your apparatus. We are interested in controlling it. What difference does it make to you whether we buy the machine and manufacture it in such quantities as we please or if we buy it and destroy it—as long as you get your price?” “That’s just it!” replied Tom angrily. “I’m not getting my price.” “We might increase our offer,” suggested Mr. X. “A certain man once said,” remarked Tom slowly, “that he was poor, but, poor as he was, the King of England was not rich enough to buy him. I say the same to you now. I am in need of funds—I do not hesitate to admit that. But, slender as my bank balance is, there is not enough cash among you masked men to pay me for destroying a machine I have worked so hard over—a machine which I hope will prove to be a delight to humanity. That’s my answer. In other words, I defy you! I’m through! I’m going to walk out of here now. This conference is ended!” “Oh, no, it isn’t ended yet,” said Mr. X in sinister tones as he arose and stepped toward a push button on the wall. “We have something else to say to you, Tom Swift. I didn’t want to resort to harsh means, but there seems to be no hope for it.” “Wait a minute!” exclaimed the young inventor. “I think I understand your game. Perhaps you think you can torture me into giving in. Or you may even have it in mind to kill me, thinking, thereby, to prevent my machine from being perfected and going on the market.